


Letters Found On 12 Grimmauld Place

by eracitor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Marauders' Era, Regulus Black/Rodolphus Lestrange (mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7633582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eracitor/pseuds/eracitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he died, Regulus sent his brother letters, explaining everything he needed to before the time of his death. This is what he wrote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dear Sirius Black.

I am sending my deepest regards in hope that you will feel them through the envelope and decide to read these letters. I am not foolish enough to believe you want to hear what I have to say; I do not believe it will change anything. I made decisions that I now regard as misguided and cowardly. That being said, I want you to read this. Actually, I  _ need _ you to read this. Not just because I do not wish to be forgotten, although that plays a part; I need you to know how I felt all these years. How I missed you and how much I truly appreciated much of what you gave me, even if I had no idea what to do with it.

So, hopefully, you will bitterly store these away and maybe read them on a whim someday. It sounds like something you would do. Please do not find me cold as I write, and in the same respect do not think me too wild in my writing. I need you to see me how you saw me ten years ago. I need you to read this like I am your brother.

You felt like I left you. There, I said it. I know you did; however, I need you to force yourself to see what I saw. You started changing. I did not recognize the boy who came home for Christmas and summer break. The fights with mother got louder; the fights with father got quieter. Up until you went to Hogwarts, you and I shared the same story. The story never changed.

Do you remember the stories you would tell me as we laid in bed at night? And sometimes I would think in loops about everything I heard Mother say, like how I was too scrawny for my age and how I was weak, so weak. I did not mean to be. You remember. I could not help it. I was one of those kids that was fragile, and it did not help that you were my protector, always. It was like how if one never experience germs ever one’s immune system becomes weak and one could die just by getting the common cold. My feelings were that weak immune system. I was quiet though, which Mother liked enough that she seldom bothered me.

Still, I would loop the words in my head. Trying to make sense of it. Who would I be if I was exactly what they wanted? I never told you but I think you and I would have been perfect had we been mashed together. I was quiet and intelligent and I was well-taught in etiquette and  in manners. You were passionate and charming, and Mother always liked that about you. We balanced each other out. I was cool and quiet and you were hot and loud.

You would tell me my favorite story every single night, the story you made up about our stars. “Once upon a time,” you would always start. “There was a hunter, a mean angry guy, and his name was…”

“Orion,” I would finish. You always made me add in the names. It made it so it was our story, not just yours. Not just your story for me. It was ours.

“Yes and he was married to a scary banshee named--”

“Walburga,” I whispered every time, glancing at the door to make sure she wouldn’t come bursting in to yell at me. She never did.

“Yes and the banshee howled and cried because she was always hungry,” Sirius grinned evilly. “She never stopped being hungry so she sent Orion  on a quest. She said to him to find the most powerful creature in the kingdom and bring him to her so her tummy would stop growling. Orion, being a super good hunter, did so. He took with him a team of dogs, and at the very lead was the strongest, coolest dog there was, named--”

“Sirius!” you would always yell, before he could even try to say it. 

“Sirius had been the son of the banshee before the evil creature had used her magic powers to turn him into a dog. So he pulled Orion’s sled as the hunter whipped at the dogs’ heels. He then came across three warriors. The first warrior’s name was--”

“Narcissa.”

“Yes, and she was a fine warrior. But she only cared about looking at herself. She sat next to a lake where she, day after day, watched herself,” Sirius explained, shaking his head. “Orion asked her, ‘Who is the strongest creature in the land?’ but she would not answer him. So Orion kept on going. Next he found the second warrior. Her name was--”

“Andromeda!”

“Andromeda, kind as she was, informed him that the biggest, baddest creature in the kingdom was a lion. Orion informed her, ‘I must take his body to my banshee wife.’ 

“‘You must not!’ Andromeda protested. ‘For I am a princess and I rule the land. I cannot let you harm this creature.’ But Orion did not listen. He moved past her and eventually met the third warrior….”

“Bellatrix,” I nodded, my eyelids starting to feel a little heavier, like they always did.

“Right. Bellatrix was strong and fierce and although she loved that lion, she showed the hunter his location because she had a duty that she would not ever disobey. When they met the lion, they soon realized it was not a full grown lion but a cub. His name was Regulus. And although Princess Andromeda tried to fight to save the lion, Orion managed to make it to the lion cub. And the human within Sirius woke up and he realized that he could not let the hunter kill something as kind and true as the lion cub. So he ripped from his harness to rescue Regulus and they ran away into the night, never to see the Banshee or the hunter ever again. The end.”

“And was the Banshee still hungry?” I always asked.

“Yes,” you would say. “She was.”

And I know it is bad of me to get self-confidence from the misery of others. But it made me feel good. You were smart enough to make up this story when we were little, and I was not too stupid to understand what you wanted me to get out of it. You would protect me. You had to because it was instinct. And our mother would never be satisfied, despite what she may say.

“A bigger house,” she huffed. “More obedient sons,” she complained. “More jewelry,” she wailed.

And I think I would have loved you had you just told me stories about mermaids and talking flowers but it was the fact that you were trying to communicate to me that we were meant to be brothers and that you would fight for me, it was that fact that made me worship you when I was younger. You were a savior. 

A month before you went to Hogwarts, I remember I annoyed you to no ends. Insisting that you write me letters every day. Making sure that you were coming back. Wishing that I could go early, that I was your twin, that you got held back or something. I did not care what. I was going to miss you, and I had assumed you would miss me too. You were my shelter. You made it easier living in that blasted house. I thought I was yours too. I thought we survived all this time because we were best friends and brothers. 

I remember reading books and practicing piano in an attempt to fill up time I’d spent with you before, pretending to be famous quidditch players or powerful wizards or whatever we wanted to be. I had reserved you as the one person I could talk nonsense with, laugh loudly with, smile brightly with. I was jealous of all the guys in Slytherin who got to be your friend, but I couldn’t wait until we were both there. So I tried not to be too loud, to take up too much space. It was two weeks before we finally got a letter, but it was not from you. It was from Abraxas Malfoy who we both know was on the school council. He regretfully informed my mother you were in Gryffindor, not Slytherin as we all assumed you would be. I remember that I really liked his handwriting. I was fascinated by the loops he made on every ‘y’ and ‘f’. I remember not understanding why Mother was so furious. I knew that she expected us to be in Slytherin, but we’d never talked about the other houses long enough for me to know yet that any other house is unacceptable.

You sent me one letter the entire first semester. One, in sloppy handwriting so it looked rushed and almost obligatory. You were busy. I can’t blame you because I remember when I first got to Hogwarts I was so overwhelmed that I forgot to send Mother a week after arriving, and she sent a Howler that all my friends laughed at. That you laughed at too. How had it become funny that Mother was more explosive, more utterly furious all the time? It hadn’t been funny before.

Anyway, I ripped your letter. You did not miss me. You were different, and I was mad. You talked about all the friends you had now. How you met James and Peter and Remus. How they were the family you never had, as if you weren’t writing to your family when you wrote it. I did not understand. Bellatrix always told me for an intellectual I was fairly moronic. But I was just so furious that you did not need me the way I needed you. That I had been temporary and now I was forgotten.

Still, I did not rip it up until after you got home for Christmas Holidays. Before, we would creep around the house together, careful and uncertain of when our mother would blow up. You almost welcomed it now. You walked in the door stomping. You were proud, I realized. You were now even more confident and loud and opinionated than you were before. You would not stop talking about Gryffindor or the new ideas that opposed Mother’s. You guys fought the entire break. 

We still shared a room at that point, but I couldn’t sleep. I was sleeping in the same room as a stranger. You had just screamed at dinner for talking about a mudblood, when you had used that word just a year ago. 

“Muggleborn,” you snapped. “They prefer the term, ‘muggleborn.’”

You explained it to me before we went to bed. I was too scared and befuddled to even ask you to tell me our story. You kept saying how everything we knew was wrong. How everything  _ I _ knew was wrong. I realize that you were trying to help me, and I agree with you now. Our way of thinking was flawed. But what you did  was unfair. I was nine years old. What did you expect from me? I was just a kid, one with the same aggressive parents you did. Except I didn’t have an escape. I did not have a second family. I had Mother and Dad and my cousins. And before that, I had you. It makes me so furious that you expected me to understand, that you expected me to just find a voice within myself and start yelling. You were changing, and I was not.

Let me just say? You had no idea what I was going through. You never stopped to listen to what Mother was saying. You were too fast, too loud, too impulsive that you never heard her. Everything she said fell on deaf ears, or so I had believed. It was not like that for me. I heard every word, and it made me want to become what she wanted. Just like how I wanted to be what you wanted. But I could not please both of you at once, and life was easier when Mother was momentarily satisfied.

I think sometimes people get stuck because after all these years, that is all I ever did. I did what I believed my parents would like, sometimes before they even asked me to. I knew what I should do to make them happy and I did it. It was a rhythm, a pattern, and it was easy. Until it was no longer easy. But I’ll get to that later.

I need to space these letter out, and this is almost a natural end to this letter, though I will wait to send these until the time comes.

 

Sincerely,

R.A.B.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Sirius Black,

I have spent my life trying to look a certain way. I know that self-esteem is something everyone works on, but I remember how many times Mother spoke of me like I was a runt that needed to be killed off. At least she spoke of it until she finally realized you were never returning to the House of Black. Still, it is like I inherited the smaller, weaker genes. I stopped caring when it became useful on my  quidditch team. It was good for me to be smaller and thinner and overall, quicker. Still,. it would have been easy to be envious of just your looks alone.

We shared a lot, obviously. The black hair, the blue-grey eyes, the fair skin. I don’t think I was bad looking, but I also did not have the knock-your-socks-off effect that you always had. You were wild and passionate and I think that was a type of charm I could never imitate or inspire within myself. I did not realize until recently that it was because I was always trying too hard. I learned it from watching Cissa. In a lot of ways, she is very similar to myself. She is waiting for someone to tell her what she is supposed to do. She is not strong like her sisters, or at least she does not let herself be as strong as them. She has been arranged to marry Lucius Malfoy, and she has been arranged to marry him for a long time.

I am only telling you this because I assume that you are not up-to-date on family gossip, and I think you need to know that not all of us were the characters from your story anymore. Dad was still a quiet, vindictive man who angered easily and threatened to hit me if ever became like you. He never did because I never did. Mother, like a banshee, wanders the house darkly and screams about how she wants so much more than what she has. I wonder if that is how Cissa will become. She will always want more from her life, her husband, herself, I think. Because that is what I wanted. It felt like I was trapped in someone else’s life and I wanted more and more all the time to run away. Is it pride? Is that why I never managed to until now? I do not think so. I think it was fear and it was loneliness.

You will not understand, and I know that you will not, but I need you to try. I relied so heavily on you as my anchor that when you left, when you became a Marauder and stopped being  _ my _ brother, I did not know what to do. Who do I rely on? Who will protect me from my parents? Who will protect me from myself? So I spent the first two years you had at Hogwarts pleasing my parents at home. Practicing piano. Working in the garden. Reading. Playing in the backyard on my broomstick. It was such a relief when I got back to Hogwarts because by that time we were not close. I think I still had hope that you and I could be brothers again, could be best friends. What a fool I had been!

I remember getting on the train and searching desperately for your compartment, and for one glorious moment in time, we were friends again. You let me into your compartment and introduced me to your friends. Remus Lupin, a scruffy bookish boy with a sweet smile and ratty robes, shook my hand and told me he had a book he thought I ought to read. Peter ruffled my hair and laughed with such a childish ease that I felt like he had accepted me on the spot. “Now I’m not the youngest,” he winked, like I was already one of you. 

You will not want to hear this but I had an immediate crush on James, although I did not realize until later. He embodied everything I wish I could be. He was a softer version of you; he talked with intensity and laughed with his whole body, but he was also less wild and less intimidating. With his wild curls and circular-lensed glasses, he grinned at me, saying, “Regulus, we’ve heard a lot about you. Heart of the lion, right? We all hope to see you in Gryffindor.”

“That’s right,” Sirius said proudly as I felt my stomach drop. Because what you did not know was that I was not like you. My life was not changing just because I was in Hogwarts, at least I did not think so. I think you wanted to change, you wanted to be someone better than you had been, and I admire and love that about you. But I was just a kid who had been told for two years that everything I should be should not be you. And I trusted the new you as much as my parents did. I did not want to change anything else in my life. I wanted everything to stay the same.

So when the Sorting Hat was placed on my head and it took fifteen minutes of pleading and threatening the ancient artifact to scream anything other than, “SLYTHERIN!” I could not help but peek over to see your faces. To watch your face go from hopeful to hard. To see you go from open to close so quickly it was like a door had been slammed shut. That is when I knew you would never forgive me for what I was doing. That you would never comprehend how much it mattered that  I force someone to believe in me. And because you were gone, it was the rest of my family. My parents and my cousins. The Black sisters welcomed me into their house with open arms, but I was heartbroken that I had finally lost my brother’s love, although I had a feeling I had lost most of you the moment you got on that train when you were eleven.

Desperate and eager for the kind of friendship you found with James and Remus and Peter, but still cowering behind the expectations my parents had made socializing seem daunting. But I quickly fell in love with my house, whether you like it or not. There was something absolutely perfect about spending nights in the Common’s Area, curled up in a chair next to someone else, listening to the sound of creatures swimming in the Black Lake. It was always funny watching Slytherins trying to be intimidating to Gryffindors, as most of them were just kids. 

I became friends with Rabastan almost immediately. He was very rowdy during class, because he had very little interest in most of what we were learning. It was not until we finally took Care of Magical Creatures that it finally hooked his attention. He had drawing after drawing of all kinds of different critters, and it was all he thought about. But many did not see that, the gentle love of every single creature, because he was gruff and he did not publicly admit his love. Still, we spent all of our years at Hogwarts as friends, because we were both quiet thinkers. 

The rest of my friends were not in my year. I spent a lot of time with Andromeda and Cissa and Bella, but a lot of the older guys liked talking to me because I was intelligent and well-spoken and after I got over the manners I’d been forced to abide by my whole life, I realized they were just like you. Sure, many shared the ideals of the House of Black, but the friendships were exactly the same. Severus, despite having his head in a book at all times, would follow our group around, indifferent but still apart, much like how I often saw Remus. Rabastan was much like  Peter in his “dullness” and in that he had secret passions and a humor that we loved. Barty Crouch Jr. reminded me of you, wild and untouchable. Lucius Malfoy and Evan Rosier were two different people altogether. 

It was Rodolphus that so dangerously reminded me of James. It was like I was forever drawn to this kind of spirit. Rodolphus had the same charm, the same love of flirtation, the same intelligence and loyalty to his friends. Rodolphus was also incredibly handsome; if he were one of us two, he would be you in this respect. Taller than Rabastan, more muscled, a crooked smile. His hands were so big, and sometimes on cold winter nights he would play his guitar. He tried to teach me once. I was always meant for piano, though, and he knew it. It is the long fingers, I guess.

How predictable that you became friends with the people you should not have on accident and I became friends with the people I was supposed to on accident. I do not think you could ever really see that, although I am still speculating here. But they were my friends. When I was merely 11 and they were barely older, it never felt like anything we did was wrong. Sure, my friends still called muggle-borns mudbloods and they could be a little snooty, but they were good, loyal friends and I would not have traded them for the world. 

This story is so long that I almost feel ashamed. I am so sorry. I keep trying to excuse my behavior. I know that we were so often cruel and uptight, but we were just kids. We were going to be stupid. We were going to believe our parents. I did not even think much of it because it seemed so insignificant at the moment.

I hate to even talk about love to you, as I do not recall you ever going steady with anyone, although you also did not tell me much after I became a Slytherin. I wish I could have talked to you. I wish I could have picked a different road when the path split. I wish I had not let myself be made into such a fool. I wish I had done things differently, but  I did not. I grew away from you, and I later joined the Death Eaters. I fell in love with someone I should not have. I was young and wild and free, at least for a little while. But I do not think I was ever free. And I am sorry that it affected you so. Up until this moment, I have been confined to making small decisions that Mum and Dad approved of. They would not approve of what I am going to do now. I hope you would. 

I wonder if sometimes people are related to unrelated events. Like how Lucius and Cissa were arranged to be married but did not truly talk or start to like each other until I introduced them. It would have happened anyway, but I had made it happen right now. 

I think I made Bellatrix insane, I must confess. I think it is completely my fault. But that is for another time, I suppose. Still, Bella is not what she used to be. She is bonkers, almost manic, especially when it comes to the dark arts. She has become obsessive about it and completely mental. She is not the level-headed warrior of your stories.

Sirius, I am not that lion. I am neither pure nor brave. I was just a teenage boy, doing the best I can to make it into adulthood alive. I did not want to change the world or even change my situation. I planned to wait until I was an adult to become whoever I was inside, and for most of the time, I was content with drifting until then. Study harder at school? Sure, I can do that. Practice piano and quidditch more? I would love nothing more. Go to dinner parties to flaunt our wealth with our insane mother? Sure, if  I must. I just kept saying yes. I did not know what I was getting myself into. I do not think I really cared. At times, I did not care if some wacko wizard came out and delivered the killing curse to me. I was in limbo and nothing seemed to matter when I was at home. I came alive with my friends in Slytherin. So I will never regret their friendship.

I hope you can at least understand that much.

 

Sincerely,

R.A.B.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Sirius Black,

You may have noticed that my handwriting is getting more frantic each time I write. I do apologize in advance for this. Every day that I delay the inevitable task I must complete is another day that people die, that innocent people are targeted, and I know that what I must do is so very important. I need to continue this story, but there’s just so much to say. And I continue writing the same words, “You will not understand.” and “I am sorry.” And I need to just write it, and let it be understood that I need you to be open-minded about everything I said.

Do you recall the summer before your sixth year? The worst of my life. You could barely look at me. You were upset with me for never speaking up, even though I just could not. You were no longer my comfort, and my comfort lied in people who would not want me to speak up.

“What do you want?” you sneered when I entered your room.

“I needed to borrow something,” I snapped. I had been doing it all summer but usually Sirius was out with the Marauders. I had been stealing your muggle clothes so that I could go out with some of my friends. Some days it was me, Rabastan, and Barty Crouch Junior. (We called him Barty Crouch Junior every time; this is not a writing error) Other days it was all of us, even Lucius and Evan would come out. Severus seldom did. He spent his summers in the dreary shade of Spinner’s End, sometimes venturing off to meet up with Lily.

Today it would only be Rodolphus and me, which was a tricky situation for me to get into. I was thirteen, turning fourteen, and although I would never be described as rebellious, I was a Slytherin truly, and I wanted more than anything to go out with Rodolphus. So I lied to our Mother and made Cissa promise to help me keep up the lies, with the help of Bella. By this time, Andromeda did not really like being apart of the group, much like you didn’t. Family was family, I had always thought. But I can understand why you left.

Still I took some muggle clothes and left, and you never asked why. I was nearly fourteen, and I was so incredibly stupid. You need to know how stupid I was. I was brought up being told exactly how to act so while I was intelligent, I didn’t know how to act or make decisions when not specifically what to do. So often, I was a bad decision-maker, when forced to problem-solve on my own. I aced everything, excelled at quidditch, and had a wide group of friends. But when a handsome sixteen-year-old boy asked me to go to a muggle concert with him, I just did it, without thinking or considering how horrorstruck my parents would have been. Despite years of fearing my mother, this stupid child (me) was willing to disobey her because of a charming smile and a wink.

Sometimes I think that you could have swayed me to be in The Order of the Phoenix, if only you had gotten James to flirt with me a little. I was a stupid, desperate little brat, and I hate myself for it. I had never wanted much in my life. I received what was given and gave what I was supposed to, and it was all so bland. I realized quickly that I did want something, and I wanted to fall in love. I wanted someone to pat my head and tell me I was doing a good job, under the circumstances, because everyone else just pushed and  _ pushed _ me to be someone I was not or maybe I was? I really do not know who I really am, to this day. I just wanted someone to comfort me, to calm me, to make me feel safe.

I did not know what homosexuality was when I was thirteen, and I am more than embarrassed to be writing about this, but I think you would understand this part. I remember walking in a little abruptly one night and was immediately pelted with the shirt. By the time I removed the shirt from my face, you and your best mate were hastily dressed and obviously nervous.

“You tell Mum, and I  _ will _ kill you,” you hissed.

“Tell her what?” I replied smugly. “Hey, Remus.”

Remus smiled easily, pulling on his shoes.

“Dinner’s ready,” I announced and turned on my heel.

I had not really known what was going on then. See, my brain was trained for ideas to be exactly like how our parents think. A woman and a man go together romantically. Merlin’s beard, this is an uncomfortable topic, but that is how it was. I saw that you were nervous and tried to use it against you. I was a little clueless.

It was not that I did not know it could happen; I just did not think it would happen to anyone I knew. I guess I detached myself from a lot of ideas. I am really sorry for that.

So I dressed in brown  trousers, a colorful baggy sweater, and sandals. It was what you had and it matched and I thought it made sense. When I snuck out the window and met Rodolphus out on the street, he laughed. “No, no, no. You are not a well-dressed muggle.”

“These are Sirius’s,” I said crossly, frowning at him.

“Okay, okay. I’ve got extra clothes. Let’s stop by my house really quick,” Rodolphus continued to laugh until finally I joined in. I did look a bit queer, but I thought all muggles looked strange, so I figured I was doing it right. Apparently not.

Rodolphus looked extremely handsome, with white pants that flared out on the bottom, a striped blue button-up that opened up at the top so you could see his chest. His hair was longer, around shoulder-length and wild. He also had the start of a beard growing across his jaw. He was far more masculine than scrawny, little me, just thirteen-years-old and no where close to growing a beard (to this day I have never had anything but a baby face, sadly). 

He had me change in a public bathroom. What he had given me were really tight pants, a striped shirt that I tucked in, and big black boots that made me feel instantly taller.

“You look like a punk,” Rodolphus grinned, and I felt myself swell with pride. Rodolphus had told me about punk music, music that I felt was right up your alley, but I had never considered myself to be “punk.” If I was a music genre, I would be classical. We all know it. But there is something about being infatuated with someone that makes you think you can be more. It seems to be a lot of playing pretend.

I did not know that I liked Rodolphus then. We went to the concert, and I had more fun than I had ever had in my entire life. After the concert, many muggles came up to talk with us about it, and I remember that Mother had always described muggles as dirty and barbaric, but in that moment, we were not divided by magic and non-magic barriers. We were all fans of an amazing band, The Who. Rodolphus popped up his collar and flirted with the ladies when they came by to talk with us. Later on when we escaped the park, we talked for a really long time. I do not remember much of what was said, but I do remember this:

“I’m arranged to be married to your cousin,” Rodolphus had said grimly, looking up into the sky. 

“Andromeda?” I asked, just to say something. What do you say to that?

“No, Bellatrix,” he said, staring up at the sky.

I did not know what to say to that. I loved Bellatrix, but I could tell he was not happy with that. He wanted more, more, more, just like we all did when we were forced into situations we did not want. I do not think humans know how to NOT want, which is rather frustrating. You seem to be one of the only people brave enough to actually act upon it. 

“Sometimes I go to these concerts and I don’t think the muggles are that bad,” Rodolphus admitted.

“Seemed pretty nice to me,” I agreed.

“But they have caused so much destruction and disorder...I mean why are  _ we _ the ones that have to hide from them. I don’t know, and then some of them just randomly have magical powers? How does that work?” Rodolphus sighed. I could tell he was frustrated. “You ought to hear the Dark Lord when he speaks. He makes it make sense, why they don’t deserve to be here, why everything he does is necessary.”

“I’m sure,” I said, a little uncomfortable. I had heard talk of the Dark Lord, even heard my parents discussing him. No one knew if he would actually take real action yet, but I would learn soon after this night, all the tiny acts had been leading up to bigger acts and soon it would be out of control.  “Look, about Bellatrix. She’s not all bad. She’s been raised pretty well. I can see your reluctant. But Lucius and Cissa were arranged too, and they’re in love now. So maybe you two have got a shot.”

“Regulus, that’s not how love works,” he laughed at me.

Blushing a little, I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, like you know.”

He sat up a little, looking straight at me. “What do  _ you _ know, Black?”

“I never claimed to know anything,” I said, leaning up on my elbows. “I’m just saying--”

“Have you ever been snogged before? Have you ever even  _ looked _ at a girl?” Rodolphus asked. It was obvious I had hit a sensitive point on accident, and I searched desperately for a way to change the topic.

“What? Um, I don’t-wow, it’s pretty late isn’t it,” I spluttered, so flustered by the turn of events that I had no control over what was coming out of my mouth. “The Who, more like the WOOO! I should probably get home here in a moment.”

Snickering, Rodolphus shook his head. “You absolute nut. How old are you anyway?”

“Fourteen,” I lied, although I don’t know why.

“Your birthday isn’t until November,” he squinted at me skeptically.

“Thirteen,” I admitted in defeat, which only made him laugh more. 

And then he kissed me.

I will try not to sound like a lovesick fool. I know I was young, and I think Rodolphus honestly just wanted me to have a first kiss, out of friendship, but we were both surprised to find it was a very good kiss, because it lasted a lot longer than both of us expected, and when we broke apart, he became very nervous and said he had to get me home. Obedient as always, I made my way home. 

Again, I am trying to spare the details. We tried to just be friends, but a few months later, when I turned fourteen and we ended up in the Common’s Area alone together, it happened again and the affairs didn’t stop after that. I learned that love can go one way, like when Bellatrix walked in on us last year  and absolutely lost her shit. It was my fault. I am so sorry. I was completely selfish whenever I was with him because I think love makes you selfish. And sometimes it’s not bad, like Lily and James, who seem like a wonderful couple. But sometimes it makes things toxic, like Severus’s love for Lily. Or my love with Rodolphus.

As irrelevant as all this may seem to you, I just need someone to know. I need to tie up all the loose ends before I do what I must do, because I am uncertain that I will come back. 

I have never been more scared in my life.

I realize, though, that to be brave you must not lose your fear but act in spite of it. That is what I plan to do.

 

Sincerely,

R.A.B.


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Sirius Black,

Looking back on it now, it was unfair of me, after all these years, to ask you to be kind to Kreacher. Not because Kreacher did not deserve kindness and respect. I love Kreacher with all of my heart. He was the one I told everything to. If I forget any detail in these letters, Kreacher will know it. He has a kind soul, he is just a little closed off to most people. His vulgar language is kind of a barrier. Reminds me a lot of you.

Still, I preached year after year for you to treat Kreacher with a gentle hand, despite the fact he was “below” us, and yet I never even thought of muggles. I never even connected the two. I think, after years of Mother’s exaggerated anecdotes of what the muggles were like, I did not even regard them as real beings. It was at that concert that I felt a little conflicted, but I forced it away, and I did not think about it for a very long time. Not until recently. 

I was wrong. I admit that now. We are all organisms on this Earth and all of us deserve...they do not deserve what the Dark Lord has planned for them. What he has planned for us all. I need you to know that I am sorry, and I plan to attest for what I have done to aid the Dark Lord. If I get out of this alive, I am going to become a vegan.

It started my sixth year. I had romantic affairs with Rodolphus, completely infatuated with him, despite the ethicality of it (because I’m so great at morality, right?), and I was friends with many other Death Eaters at the time. Very few actually had Dark Marks at the time, only the Dark Lord’s closest allies. Because I was seldom actually committed to a topic with my full support, I was one of the last of my friends to join. I remember Crabbe and Barty Crouch Junior bragging, star-eyed, about the amazing things the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named planned to accomplish. I remember Rabastan was delighted by some of the creatures the Dark Lord planned to have on his army. Bellatrix raved hour after hour about the benefits of supporting You-Know-Who. Cissa and Severus were a lot quieter about their support. Still it was almost an expectation that eventually I would succumb to the direction the group was taking.

As weak as it sounds, I was immediately drawn to everything He was saying. At the time, I was headed into a direction that I was maybe a little unsure of but that I felt was inevitable. And Dark Arts were normal in our house, as you know. So everything he talked about had this weird appeal to it. It is much like how the blades of knives almost look beautiful, the smoothness of their curve. If you touch them, they could wound you, but you cannot help but be drawn to them anyway. He would have these secret meet-ups where he spoke of his plans, and there were many underground articles published by him. He was growing and growing quickly.

It was unlikely that I should ever meet him, that I should ever become anything other than a follower of him, but every time I went, I was struck by the utter brilliance of his words, and I also had an ever-growing need to impress Rodolphus. Plus, I never felt pressured by the legality of the Dark Arts; I came from the noble House of Black, so there was no way they would take  _ me _ to Azkaban.

“I found what my mother likes to call Pandora’s Box,” I told Rodolphus, who was immediately captivated. It always astounded me how willing he was to listen to what I was saying. “It’s this music box that plays a tune strong enough to make a room full of people faint. It is this type of technology, I think, that should be taken and expanded upon, you know? Like, perhaps the creator of these artefacts are not thinking big enough. What about a record player that put people into a coma?”

“Would that not require stronger magic?” Rodolphus pointed out, always ready to jump into a friendly argument, if not a real Dark Arts debate. We were mostly just messing around with ideas that most people had.

“Sure, but the Dark Lord is quickly acquiring some great wizards on our cause. Very soon we will have minds from all over the world, and it is the input of these ideas that will cause these artefacts to excel,” I explained. “Besides, the Dark Lord alone is the most brilliant mind of the century, you  _ know _ that.”

“Is this not a descendant of the House of Black?” I heard a cold, dark tone from behind us. The Dark Lord’s presence was unlike anything I had ever known in my life. It was cold and it sucked out every emotion you could feel, except for perhaps fear. He almost reminded me of a Dementor. Merlin’s pants, I hope you never have to endure that kind of feeling. 

“Regulus Black, son of Walburga and Orion Black,” I introduced myself, bowing like how I had been taught at all the dinner parties Mother had taken us to. 

“Perhaps one of the purest bloodlines in England,” The Dark Lord remarked. His voice was slow and particular and cold, and the tension between us all reminded me of a squid’s tentacle wrapping itself around us all. Bellatrix, upon seeing us being approached by You-Know-Who, flocked to us, bubbling with respect and confidence.

“My Lord, this is my fiance, Rodolphus Lestrange, and my cousin, Regulus,” Bellatrix boasted, hanging on Rodolphus’s arm. He smiled at her, and it hurt my heart a little. Nonetheless, I smiled as charmingly as I could.

“I know,  _ Bellatrix _ , we have just introduced ourselves,” the Dark Lord said without looking at her. His eyes pierced through me with a dark intensity, so dark that I clammed up. I had no idea what to do with my hands. I had no idea where to look. “The kind of globalization, the kind of dark justice you speak of is exactly the state of mind all of my Death Eaters must inhibit.”

“No one has a more brilliant mind than you, though,” Bellatrix gushed, and her body almost seemed to be buzzing. It was like when I saw Rodolphus watch The Who on stage. She was more than just a fan, though; she was obsessed. 

She was correct in her thinking, despite that. What I was saying was not all that crazy. There was no way that You-Know-Who sincerely found it to be extremely brilliant. The Dark Arts would be an easy way to accomplish sinister plans, an obvious means of them to reign over muggle-kind. Still, he seemed certain he had a role for me to play, and I was going along with it.

“That kind of intellect is valued,” The Dark Lord continued, ignoring her. “In addition to your loyalty toward your perfectly pure-blooded family.”

“So long as we can keep the blood traitors out,” I agreed with him. 

“What other suggestions might you have?”

To my displeasure, I was made to spout out ideas that I had. I was always pretty wishy-washy. I agreed with people, but I was not about to just stick my ideas and opinions out in the open. But I liked that I was regarded with a respectful, attentive audience. I spoke of every dark artefact I knew of. A book that burned your eyes, a hand that could unlock any door in the world, a mask that imitated the face of others perfectly. I had seen many in the house, as well at Borgin & Burkes so the list ended up longer than I would have wanted, but I think the Dark Lord was testing my genuity, to see if I was worthy of the cause. 

Dismaying Bellatrix in the process, I soon became one of the Dark Lord’s favorites. This I will have to expand on. No one was important to the Dark Lord; however, certain ones were used regularly for awhile at his expense. It was not that I would ever be important in his mind; it was simply that when he called meetings, he would often call for me to sit a little closer, and sometimes he would call for me to listen to him rant  about the filth of Muggles and mudbloods. And he sent me on certain tasks.

It was almost a curse in itself that I was attracted so much to Dark Magic. Curiosity killed the cat, right? He had me practice enchanting Dark objects. I made an opal necklace, the first of its kind, that would torture anyone who touched it directly. I did not think anything of it, of any of the magic I mastered, of any of the curses I put on objects. I was brilliant, and for once, I was using it to its fullest capacity. I was not drifting anymore. 

And then came the night when the Dark Lord asked for a favor. “I need to borrow a house elf,” the Dark Lord asked of me, naturally earning a, “Yes, my Lord.” from me. I do not know that I actually thought about what he was going to do with my house elf. I did not really question the Dark Lord at that point. I did what was asked of me, and I even had a Dark Mark by that point. I was one of the very few to get one, and the only people that knew were my parents. 

Fury. I have never felt a fury so large and fiery as the night when Kreacher returned, weak, about to die, screaming of the tortures he had seen, crying about how he had served the Dark Lord. I have heard that to really execute one of the Unforgivable curses, you have to feel it. You have to mean it. In that moment, holding my poor, tortured house elf, Avada Kedavra was on the tip of my tongue. I was so completely furious, even more mad than when you left.

Let me just say, you never took me with you. You tried a little when I was younger to give me a choice to be like you, to be whoever I wanted to be, but I was scared. By then, it already felt like you had left. _You_ _gave up on me_. It is not fair that you did not even say good bye. It is not fair that you left me with parents that would yell and scream and use you as a way to force me into the Regulus they wanted me to be. It just is not fair that I did not have any hope any more of ever actually defying them. You left, and I am glad you did. I just wish you would have taken me with you. 

Anyway, I rushed Kreacher to the Lestrange Manor, for Rabastan to inspect him and help heal him. Rabastan, to his credit, did his best to relieve the pain, but it was unlike anything either of us had ever seen. ‘He let Kreacher touch a Dark Object,’ I thought immediately and a little guiltily, as I had recently been cursing many objects, as I relayed earlier. At this point, Rodolphus was no longer on speaking terms with me, as he planned to be as loyal to Bellatrix as he possibly could be. Still, he sat with us as we tried to help him.

Eventually, I made it back home and let Kreacher rest a little. When he awoke, he was ready to speak. “Master must want to know what happened to Kreacher.”

“Do you feel better? Do you need more nourishment? I-”

“Kreacher does not wish to go into much detail, but Kreacher understand that Master must know what happened to Kreacher,” Kreacher said. It seemed like the creases in his face were even more dark and bold, like someone had crumbled him up and then tried to flatten him out again.

“Of course! What happened?” I asked eagerly. I had learned to easily to keep my emotions within, and I did not want Kreacher to think I was upset with him. I had a burning fury for whatever the Dark Lord had done to him.

He described to me a cave that You-Know-Who took him too, about what he feared to be lurking underneath the water. He described how the Dark Lord forced him to drink spoon after spoon full of a Dark liquid that made him see things he was unable to repeat. He felt like he was being tortured and he saw dark visions, and he watched the Dark Lord place a locket in the now empty vial, before leaving Kreacher for dead. Kreacher escaped by Apparation, as house elves do not follow the same laws of magic as wizards do, and he came straight to me, “in fear that the visions had been correct.”

Unfortunately for the Dark Lord, who had given me the recent task of looking into dark artefacts, I’d done a lot of researching. I’d even convinced my favorite professor, Professor Slughorn to let me research different objects in the Restricted Section. But it wasn’t enough. I began digging through our mother’s books, and then our father’s, few that there were. Finally, I managed to find  _ Secrets of the Darkest Arts _ in Uncle Cygnus’s library. It described one of the most fearful processes I’ve ever heard of. 

To make a horcrux, is to split a piece of your soul in an attempt at immortality and to put it into a seemingly normal object so as to preserve and protect it. The only way to do it, to make such a horrendous dissection of your own soul, is by performing an act so foul that your soul splits apart, for instance, killing others. The moment I heard Kreacher’s story, I had the sneaking suspicion I knew what was transpiring, but it was not until I was digging into my old research and I found and  reread  _ Secrets of the Darkest Arts _ a week after that I began to put things together. At this point, I was fairly certain that whatever You-Know-Who was planning, I no longer wanted to be a part of it. I had soon realized that I never wanted to harm anyone considered “below” me ever again because if that meant I was hurting someone like Kreacher, someone loyal and brave, then there was no way I would ever hurt anyone like that again.

I fully believe that the Dark Lord has already created at least one horcrux, and it is that locket in the vial in the middle of the cave. I think he may have more. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has the tendency to push an idea to its most extreme version. I had done so much wrong for him in the past couple years that I wanted to be sick, but soon I became determined. There was still a way for me to pay for what I’ve done. I must destroy the locket, in hope that good may triumph over the Dark Lord. I must warn that you never underestimate the words or threats that the Dark Lord makes. He means all of it. He is a force of the most vile kind of evil.

Uncertain to whether I will come out of this alive, I have instructed Kreacher to take these to you if I die in this cave. I have created a replica, and I  intend to destroy the real locket once I return home, but if something goes wrong, Kreacher has promised to take care of it for me. He is the most loyal house elf there is. I hope you will not mistreat him. You should know that I love you, and that you were the best brother when I was little. I wish we had not grown apart. I wish I could have been brave enough for you. I wish we could have ended up good friends.

I want to tell you a million things, my heart pounding as I write this from a boat in the middle of an angry sea. I want to write about how my heart is thudding out of my chest. About how Kreacher’s eyes well up with tears I did not know he had in him. He does not think I will get out alive. He is not certain if he will be able to Apparate out of here with me. He keeps trying to convince me to go back. He keeps pulling at his ears. “The things Master will see, Master does not want to see them. Kreacher does not want Master Regulus to see the horrid things Master will see.”

I am so utterly terrified, but I know I have to do this. Hopefully, you will read this and perhaps forgive me. Maybe you will read this and it will aid your fight against the Dark Lord. Either way, I have to bring this torture liquid up to my lips. Kreacher’s entire body seems to convulse. This is the last words I may write. I will feel like such a fool for writing such dramatic words if I live to tell this. So perhaps it won’t be my last letter.

 

Until I see you again,

R.A.B. 


End file.
